


honey, i'm home!

by clouds1132



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - No One Direction, Domestic Fluff, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Funny, Humor, Kissing, Loneliness, M/M, Meet-Cute, Neighbors, No Smut, Pizza, Strangers to Lovers, louis is kinda quirky and antisocial but that's basically just a reflection of me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:15:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27243295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clouds1132/pseuds/clouds1132
Summary: Louis is in his mid-twenties and is single, lonely, unable to cook for himself... and single. That is until he meets his new neighbour, Harry, who likes to meditate at 10 pm and blast rock music at 6 am.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne, i lowkey forgot about ziam while writing this
Comments: 1
Kudos: 70





	honey, i'm home!

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyy friends !
> 
> A few weeks ago, I found a prompt that I liked but I didn't start writing it until about two weeks ago. Then, I wrote it in a few days before proceeding to procrastinate editing (I also don't have a beta so sorry if there are a lot of errors. I tried my best !!) for a few more days. But I finally forced myself to edit so yeah. If I'm being honest, this is probably a work that I'm a bit on the fence about but I thought I'd post it anyway, just to see what you guys think. I hope you all enjoy it !
> 
> Prompt: Every day, you return to your apartment and say “Honey, I’m home. Oh wait, that’s right, I live alone.” But one day, a voice replies, “I picked some pizza.”
> 
> Prompt from: https://blog.reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts/romance/everyday-you-return-to-your-apartment-and-say-hone/ 
> 
> Warnings: Swearing.

_ May 12th _

It’s nearly four o’clock in the afternoon when Louis returns home from work - well home, meaning his messy, dingy apartment that’s only dingy because Louis is far too lazy to take the time to decorate it. He’s never understood people who are somehow disciplined and creative enough to come up with a particular theme or aesthetic that they want their apartment to turn into, and then actually implement it.

It’s absurd, really, because firstly, who even has the patience to hang up paintings and position succulents on useless shelves that will inevitably start attracting dust within the first hour? And secondly, interior design and colour-matchmaking is a completely foreign concept to Louis. He would honestly be happy to live in a single, square room with plain white walls, a door and a window. He’ll take anything as long as it has a roof, right?

Louis spirits are above average as he enters the elevator, thinking back to just half an hour ago when his boss, Dr Greenbriar had allowed everyone to leave an hour and a half early due to his recent engagement to his girlfriend of six years. Normally, Louis would have jokingly sneered at any news Dr Greenbriar presented them with but this time, it was different because Louis actually gained benefit from it. Plus, the fact that Dr Greenbriar refers to himself as a ‘doctor’ adds to Louis’ sneer because Dr Greenbriar is in fact,  _ not _ a doctor - he’s the boss of a book publishing company, for god’s sake!

After rising three floors, the elevator chimes and Louis steps out, smiling politely at a kind, old lady that he bumps into around two to three times a week.

“Afternoon, Cathy. You doing alright?” he asks, looking down at the woman who’s peering up at him with some sort of baked good in her hands.

“Louis, love! Wonderful to see you today!” Cathy exclaims, her eyes crinkling around the edges as she smiles. She hurries into the elevator before turning around to face Louis. “I’m just going to deliver this cherry pie to one of my friends on level one. You’re alright too?”

She leans forward to press the button on the wall and Louis realises that he has to finish this conversation quickly before Cathy disappears behind the door of the elevator.

“I’m doing great!” Louis replies, too cheerily for a casual afternoon chat. But then again, he’s in a good mood today so he probably should attempt to make up for all the times he had come home from work in a bad mood and had had to have a grumpy conversation with Cathy. With a lopsided grin, he salutes the lady, that he’s found himself to become quite fond of, with two fingers. “Well, I’ll be going now. Have a lovely evening.”

“You too!” he hears Cathy call as the elevator door conceals her from view.

Louis spins on his heel, turns right and heads down the familiar hall, glancing at all the doors that hide many people that he’s yet to meet. It’s not like he doesn’t want to make new friends or talk to people, it’s the prospect of initiating a conversation with a stranger that will inevitably end up in the two of them standing in awkward silence. But with people he actually knows, it’s entirely different. Like, he can have a perfectly comfortable, casual conversation with Cathy so that must count for something!

Sure, he’s had some chats with a select few of them, like Zayn from apartment 173 - a mysterious guy, who enjoys graffitiing the walls of his room, and Liam from apartment 169 - a kind man who’s favourite pastime is working out to Spanish songs. Sure, they’ve had drinks with each other and have exchanged small talk, but they’re not exactly Louis’ best buddies that he would offer the role of best men to at his non-existent future wedding. However, Louis did suspect that there was something going on between the pair (wink, wink, nudge, nudge).

Louis arrives at the grey door, labelled  _ 160 _ and fishes for his key in his deep pockets that they always seem to get lost in. When he finds it, he huffs out a short breath of accomplishment and fits it into the keyhole, rotates it around until the lock makes a clicking sound. Satisfied with his ability to successfully complete mature, adult millstones like unlocking a door, Louis twists the doorknob and pushes the door open with quite a bit of force because, for some injudicious reason, the architects had decided that it was a fabulous idea to install a door with a bunch of metal condensed inside of it. That’s probably why his apartment was almost always cold, huh. Stupid,  _ stupid _ architects.

Choosing not to dwell on the sombre thought of his conductive door, Louis enters his apartment feeling a smile tug at his lips as he realises that tonight, he has one and a half more hours to waste time doing nothing than usual.

“Honey, I’m home!” he calls cheerfully before stopping right in his tracks as his brain takes a few steps back. Hold up. Rewind. A sour look overcomes his face as he rolls his eyes to himself and drawls, “Oh wait, that’s right. I live alone.”

Grimacing, Louis swings the door shut and carelessly tosses his bag onto the couch, hoping that all the fragile objects inside don’t break. Actually, that’s a lie. Louis doesn’t give a shit about if all the fragile objects inside his bag shatter into a million pieces because he doesn’t  _ have _ any fragile objects inside his bag. Louis is too single to have anyone to give him fragile things anyway.

And so just like any other night, Louis ends up sprawled across his couch, watching  _ High School Musical _ while stuffing his face with dumplings. He doesn’t even know why he makes himself watch these types of movies, forcing himself to become jealous of the characters. Well, he’s lost his chance at a high school romance. The least he can do is witness one… a fake one.  
  


_ May 16th _

It’s Sunday and Louis is fucking lonely so he decides to go grocery shopping in order to spend time with the fruits that are on sale, who are his only friends at this point. To an outsider, the way Louis spends his Saturdays is truly a testament to how lonely and bored he gets. Sexually active males in their mid-twenties should  _ not _ be spending their days off inside a supermarket, making friends with inanimate objects. Even sexually inactive males (like Louis) in their mid-twenties shouldn’t be spending their days off inside a supermarket, making friends with inanimate objects. Gosh, Louis’ life is so sad.

It’s not like he’s  _ completely _ sexually inactive. In fact, the last time he hooked up with someone was early this year… okay, maybe late last year… fine, it was early last year. But Louis continuously argues with himself that he doesn’t have time to go to bars and hook up with people, despite the fact that he clearly has time to befriend tomatoes at the supermarket. Louis blames the big man up above the sky for making him into such a lazy couch potato.

After a two-hour-long session of scrupulously inspecting the bottoms of watermelons and making sure to only buy green apples that aren’t bruised, Louis arrives back at the apartment complex with his arms aching from carrying three loaded bags of food that will hopefully last him a few weeks. His shoulders are aching, which is a good enough excuse for him to convince himself that he doesn’t need to work out for a week or so. Perhaps, after his well-deserved break from physical exercise, he should consult Liam for tips on building up arm muscle.

As Louis approaches the manual door that leads to the lobby, he sighs, realising that he’s probably going to have a problem with opening the door while his hands are full. He doesn’t want to put his bags down because they’ll probably topple over, causing all the products to fall out and he’ll have to clean it up. Plus, the floor is fucking filthy and he doesn’t need futile dirt on the bottom of his fancy, reusable cloth bags.

Still debating on how he’s going to open the door, Louis doesn’t notice the door handle being turned until it’s too late and the heavy door swings right into his face. Fucking stupid landlord should’ve invested in transparent doors instead of stupid metal ones.

“Oh my god, fuck, are you okay!” Louis is stunned as he hears a familiar voice, but not to the point that he can put a name to it, say as the person places his hands on Louis’ shoulders in order to steady him. “Shit, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there!”

Of course, he didn’t. The stupid fucking landlords chose to install opaque doors.

Louis squeezes his eyes shut as his nose begins to respond to the door smashing into it, stinging in pain. He can feel the dark, warm liquid oozing out of it by now.

“I’m fine,” Louis croaks out, squinting his eyes open to see none other than his pal, Liam, standing in front of him, looking down at him with wide, frantic eyes. No, he’s really not fine but that was just his automatic response. Speaking of automation, perhaps the landlord should invest in transparent  _ and _ automatic doors.

“No, you’re not. Shit, your nose is bleeding,” Liam states the obvious, his face completely distraught that a bystander would probably guess that  _ he _ was the unfortunate person in this situation. He fumbles around his pockets before producing a convenient pack of tissues. He hastily pulls one out and wastes no time in folding up before pressing in on Louis’ nose and holding it there.

Louis’ head lolls back at the force of Liam’s hand as he’s overcome by a wave of dizziness, his face growing warm. He whispers, “Thanks.”

Though his eyelids are droopy, Louis can still see Liam’s expression contort to one of horror. “No, don’t thank me! I just hit you in the face with a door! I’m so sorry, I really am.”

A feeling of sympathy forms in Louis’ gut at how apologetic Liam looks, even though Louis is the one who’s actually in pain. God, his head hurts. He cracks a small smile. “‘s’alright. Can’t be lucky every day.”

Liam chuckles softly but Louis can tell that it’s forced. “Seriously, man. I’m really sorry. I’ll help you carry your groceries up to your room to make up for it.”

“Sounds good,” Louis replies, his words slurring slightly as Liam takes one of the bags so Louis can press the tissue to his nose by himself. He makes a thumbs up when Liam grabs the other bag before opening the door in front of them and stepping into the lobby.

With his eyes half-closed and the rest of his senses temporarily on an intermission, Louis somehow manages to navigate his way towards the elevator where a young lad with brownish-blond hair stands, carrying a box. The lad is humming when Louis and Liam approach him but turns his head when he hears their footsteps, his eyes widening at the sight of Louis.

“Mate, are you alright?” the lad asks, his eyes like saucepans as he almost drops his box in shock. Louis can hear a twinge of an Irish accent behind the lad’s words. “Mate, your nose is, like, dripping. Wait.” Louis watches as the lad opens up the flaps of his box, searching around before pulling out a new tissue box. He tears it open before ripping out a bunch of tissues and shoving it into Louis’ face. “Here.”

Louis can practically  _ feel _ Liam grimacing sheepishly behind him.

“Thanks, mate,” Louis says genuinely, the corners of his mouth rising in a small smile as the elevator dings.

The three of them step inside the tiny elevator and Louis looks down at one of his hands, wondering if he should save Liam the trouble and press the button for the third level. But alas, his hands are practically smothered in bright, red blood - so much so that he could probably get framed for a murder, right now, and the judge would believe the plaintiff. Louis watches as Niall presses the button for the third level and discerns that he doesn’t need to press anything anyway.

Louis turns to Liam, gesturing towards his nose as the elevator door closes. “D’you think it’s broken?”

Not for the first time, Liam looks like his blood has not just run cold, but has completely frozen. “I hope not. Mate, I’m  _ so _ sorry. Look, I’ll pay for your hospital bills if you need a realignment surgery and I’ll buy you dinner for the next couple of weeks. I’ll even visit you at the hospital daily, and bring you flowers and ‘get well soon’ teddy bears-”

Louis lets out a loud laugh, immediately wincing at the pain it brings when his nose twitches. “Don’t worry about it, Liam. It’s the door’s fault, anyway.”

If anything, Liam looks even more alarmed. Louis must be going crazy or something.

He turns to the Irish lad. “Are you moving in?”

He doesn’t miss as the young man tentatively eyes the tissues that are bunched up in front of his nose, blocking a part of his vision too. “Nah, man. One of me mates is moving in so I’m just being a wonderful friend and helping his lazy arse move his stuff.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “I’m just going to assume you’re on level three as well since you didn’t press anything. Harry could do with some more friends. He’s in number 158.”

Louis’ eyes widen in the prospect of having a new neighbour, who was probably going to end up getting sick of Louis’ shit within the first night. And this Irish lad wanted them to be friends? As the kids say, these days:  _ lmao _ . Fat chance.

Louis nods his head towards Liam, who’s standing in the corner like a statue, still looking petrified like he’s been stared at by the Basilisk from  _ Harry Potter _ . “Nice. Well, Liam’s in 169.”

The Irish lad’s light eyebrows rise slightly, which became an odd look when his blue eyes narrowed. “Are you two together?”

Somewhat shocked, Louis glanced at Liam, who was staring at the other man incredulously. Louis turned back to him and replied, “No, but Liam’s boyfriend’s in 173.”

Louis smirks smugly to himself as Liam’s face goes red out of the corner of his eye but before he can protest, the elevator dings and the doors slide open so they can step out of it. Louis walks alongside a very grumpy Liam, following Niall as he troops down the corridor towards room 158, stopping in front of the door.

“Well, mates. It was nice to meet you. Niall, by the way, my name is,” the Irish lad says, shooting them a smile as he retrieves a key from his pocket. “Hope your nose gets better.”

“Thanks, Niall. I’m Louis,” Louis replies, fishing for his own key and hoping that his blood-stained hands won’t make a mess in his pocket.

In his peripheral vision, he sees Niall do a double-take as he looks up at him. “Wait, you live here?”

“Yeah…?” Louis replies, his voice going up at the end like he was asking a question rather than replying with a statement. “Did I not say that?”

Yeah, Louis’ had totally ‘forgotten’ to add that on purpose.

Niall’s face lights up considerably, his eyes now a light, joyful shade of blue. “Sick, mate! Harry and you are neighbours!”

Louis hears Liam cough behind him, muttering something under his breath that sounds something remarkably like “and soon to be boyfriends”. He chooses to ignore that blatantly unattainable prospect (because Liam’s probably trying to get him back for the previous boyfriend comment anyway) and decides that they should definitely part ways with Niall before the conversation spirals out of his control.

“That’s wonderful news, Niall,” Louis replies, trying to sound as sincere as possible. “Well, Liam and I had better be going now to fix up this… disaster,” he says, gesturing towards his tragedy of a nose and forcing out a chuckle before beckoning Liam inside and closing the door behind them. “Bye!”

“So, erm, where would you like me to put these?” Liam asks, standing in the entrance awkwardly and still clutching onto Louis’ two bags of groceries.

“Just leave them right there. I’ll put them away later,” Louis replies, gesturing towards the empty space next to the door. As Liam carefully places the bags on the floor, Louis heads towards the bathroom, his voice becoming a bit more weary than usual and he suspects it’s because of the blood loss. “Honey, I’m home!”

He senses Liam hurriedly following behind him, probably to help him clean up his nose. “Wait, I didn’t know you’re seeing someone.”

Louis enters the bathroom with Liam on his heels and he stops in front of the mirror, taking in the sight of his red-flushed face and tissues covering his nose that are almost drenched in blood. He’s surprised that the tissues haven’t started dripping yet.

“You’re right. I’m not,” he deadpans.

And so the rest of the night continues with Liam offering to stay and help Louis to clean up his nose. Louis declines politely because clearly, Liam had been on his way to somewhere before the whole catastrophe transpired. He’ll be fine anyway. He’s always fine. Liam begrudgingly leaves after about five minutes of back-to-back, spitfire arguments, suggesting that Louis see a doctor in order to make sure that his nose isn’t fractured or something.

Louis will be fine. He’s got nothing to worry about. It was probably just a blood vessel that burst.

_ May 17th _

It’s Monday evening after a long day of work when Louis decides that he’s had enough of eating cut-up apples for a snack. He deserves something better after eight hours of thinking up the best ways to advertise his newest client’s book. He deserves something that will improve his mental well-being, even if it deteriorates his physical well-being.

And so, he comes to the conclusion that the ‘grab-and-go’, barbecue-flavoured Pringles from the office’s vending machine is the way to go. Besides the fact that the Pringles will probably shatter into pieces when the can drops down to the dispenser, it will be the perfect snack to eat while he wallows in misery over yet another evening of his being single.

After saying a quick goodbye to a few of his colleague-acquaintances, Louis slings his bag over his shoulder and walks out of the main office, into the foyer. He glances around in search of the vending machine before his eyes fall on it, standing tall next to a rubbish bin that is nearly overflowing in greasy pieces of plastic. It’s fair to say that the company that Louis works for is probably not the most environmentally-conscious.

Heading over to the machine, Louis searches around his seemingly never-ending pockets for a single pound because he knows for a fact that Pringles only cost a pound (he likes to be prepared). He looks for the product he wants before forcefully jabbing the number 28 into the machine and pushing the pound into the coin insert. He watches as the machine slowly pushes the can over the ledge (he can literally feel his soul dying at how long it takes) before it falls to the bottom with a clatter. Louis bends down and reaches his hand into the dispenser, feeling around for the can before grabbing it and standing back up. 

Immediately, Louis takes the cap off and peels open the can, taking a Pringle and putting it into his mouth, savouring the taste as it melts on his tongue. His nose only stings slightly when he opens his mouth, which means that it’s healing (he had decided that his nose was in fact, not broken, and he didn’t need to see a doctor, contrary to Liam’s suggestion). A small smile plays on his lips at the joy of getting to eat junk food (for once) as he ambles mindlessly towards the automatic doors that he wishes his apartment complex would have.

The journey home is not long but Louis feel like every time the light at the pedestrian crossing flashes red, it takes a lifetime for it to turn green. He just wants to get home so he can watch  _ High School Musical 2 _ and enjoy his Pringles. Gosh, is that too much to ask for?

Just like any other ordinary day, Louis pushes the door to the lobby open before riding up the elevator until he reaches the third floor. He strolls down the corridor and reaches for his keys, slotting them into the lock and forcefully shoving the door open.

“Honey, I’m home!” he calls, definitely not for the first time his life. He stops in the entryway with a defeated sigh before glancing down at his half-empty Pringles can with an almost-miserable expression. He lowers his voice and mutters, “Nevermind. I’m single. Single as a fucking Pringle.”

Louis’ night carries on like it normally does, with him neglecting to learn how to use his small kitchenette once again and instead, opting to eat sliced apples and cheese sticks. The only differences are that he’s watching the second  _ High School Musical _ movie and at 10 pm on the dot, his new neighbour turns on a meditation audio.  
  


_ May 20th _

It’s six o’clock in the morning when Louis wakes up to the vibrations of some heavily intense rock music, coming from his new neighbour’s apartment. He sits up and groggily rubs his eyes, yawning and wondering who in their right mind just so decides that it’s a good idea to play rock music at the arse-crack of dawn. Well, apparently his neighbour (according to Niall, called Harry) does. But Louis won’t blame Harry for waking him up; it’s probably the metal in the walls.

Thursday is the day where he skips out on work so he can volunteer at a nearby children’s’ daycare. Of course, he has to work on Saturdays to make up for it but it’s worth it because he’ll take any chance he’s given to see his mum and two of his siblings, Doris and Ernest. Working at the daycare is fun anyway because he gets to spend time reliving his childhood while helping the kids create masterpieces of drawings or make up stories with their toys.

Louis has three hours to spare before he needs to be at the daycare so he lies down, covers his ears with his pillow and goes back to sleep (or tries to go back to sleep).  
  


He wakes up again at 8:30, giving him just enough time to dress appropriately, get a bite in and travel to the daycare. He chooses a simple black t-shirt and sweatpants before placing a beanie atop his head to hide his obviously ungroomed hair. Whatever. He can’t be bothered to comb his hair anyway. After eating a few mouthfuls of Coco Pops, Louis grabs his phone and wallet before exiting his apartment.

When he arrives outside, he’s pleased to feel the warm radiation of the sun hitting his face and even though the UV rays could potentially damage his skin, he still prefers to bask under the sunlight. Come to think of it, it would probably be a wonderful day to go to the beach and have some fun. Louis would. Except he would look pretty lonely there by himself.

At exactly nine o’clock, Louis steps foot into the daycare centre, immediately spotting his mum and the twins standing in line, and waiting to be checked in. Subconsciously, a smile grows on his face at the sight of their bright and enthusiastic faces. Realising that they haven’t seen him yet, Louis makes his footsteps lighter and sneaks up behind them.

“Boo!” he exclaims suddenly, crouching down so he can be eye-level with the twins.

At the abrupt sound of his voice, they both jump and swivel around (and Louis swears he sees his mum jump a little), their smiles transforming into beams when they recognise him.

“Lou!” they chorus excitedly, wrapping their arms around his neck and giggling like a pair of mischief-makers. Louis grins into the embrace and wraps his arms around both of their small bodies.

“I feel like it’s been  _ years _ since I’ve seen you two little rascals!” he tells them dramatically as he pulls away from the hug, causing them to burst into another fit of giggles.

“Only one week!” Doris counters, eager to seem smart and impress her older brother.

Louis gives in with a sigh and ruffles her hair, making her squirm. “You’re right. But it  _ feels _ like it.” He stands up straight and turns towards his mum, who’s looking at him with a fond expression. A smile blooms on his face at the emotion in her eyes and he can tell that she’s missed him dearly, even though it’s only been a mere week. He leans forward and envelops her in a tight hug. “Hi, mum.”

“Hi, honey,” she replies, wrapping her arms around him and hooking her chin over his shoulder. “So glad you’re here.”

Louis doesn’t ignore the warm feeling that swells in his chest and tugs on his heart because of the short statement. He’d be lying if he says he doesn’t crave the sentiment every day.

“Same,” he mumbles back before pulling away.

While his mum, Doris and Ernest move up a spot in the line, Louis heads over to one of the ladies so he can get approved as a volunteer and receive his name tag.

“Louis,” she greets him, smiling when she spots him coming over. “Back again for another week?”

He nods as the lady rummages around her box of name tags for his one. “Can’t get enough of all the kids.”

“Of course. They’re the cutest, aren’t they?” she muses, grinning in accomplishment as she finds his name tag and hands it over to him. “I always worry that one day, you’ll call to announce your leave.”

Louis’ lips curve into a small smile, the backs of his eyes growing warmer at the thought of this lady worrying about him leaving for good. Gosh, it’s only nine o’clock. He shouldn’t be getting emotional this early in the morning!

“I’m afraid you’ll be putting up with me for a very long time,” he reassures her as he threads the safety pin behind his name tag into his shirt. “Do you mind if I have a quick chat with my mum first before I go in?”

The lady gives Louis an incredulous look as if he’s just requested such a shocking thing. “Of  _ course _ , you can, love! You don’t need to ask me these things. You’re not at  _ work _ .”

Realising his mistake, Louis glances at her sheepishly. “Right, sorry. Just making sure.”

“Well, off you go then,” the lady says with one hand on her hip and the other one shooing him away like she’s expecting him to leave immediately so he can spend some quality time with his mum. Louis is glad he volunteers at a daycare with the most kind and understanding workers.

Louis turns back to the line of parents and children and watches fondly as his mum says goodbye to Doris and Ernest, giving them each a soft kiss on their cheeks before sending them on their way. As she does so, she meets Louis’ eyes knowingly and advances towards him, nodding her head towards a conveniently-placed set of chairs. Sitting across from her, he brushes his fringe out of his eyes and prepares for a round of loving interrogation.

“So, what’s new with you?” his mum asks, raising an eyebrow expectantly, even though she knows that Louis won’t have very much to tell her anyway.

Louis shrugs, not even able to be embarrassed anymore by his life being so uneventful. It’s been monotonous like that since high school so his mum shouldn’t be surprised.

“Nothing much,” he replies slowly because maybe if he stretches out his words, he’ll seem like he’s saying a lot. “I got a new client yesterday - a rich one - who wants me to print out three hundred flyers.

“Three hundred?” his mum’s eyes widen. “Gosh, is it that big of a book?”

Shrugging again, Louis responds, “Not sure. I haven’t read it but apparently, it’s a devastatingly miserable autobiography.”

His mum tilts her head to the side while her eyes bear into her son’s as if she’s studying him. Louis is too familiar with being under her scrutiny to be uncomfortable with it.

“Anything interesting going on in your life?” she questions finally, her tone slightly challenging. “Have you made any new friends or gone out with your friends from the apartment… Zayn and Leo, was it?”

“Liam,” Louis corrects her.

“Liam, sorry,” she apologises quickly before continuing, “Have you met anyone special?”

Louis presses his lips together, wondering if he should lie as to avoid the disappointment from his mum. He knows that she’ll understand but he wants her to be happy with him -  _ proud _ of him. But then again, he can’t just blatantly lie to his own mum! 

Eventually, he just sighs and hangs his head slightly, muttering, “No, I haven’t… but I’m working on it.”

That’s a half-lie… well, at least it’s an improvement!

His mum visibly narrows her eyes at him, surveying his face like her sixth sense is screaming ‘he’s lying!’. Fuck, she probably knows him too well for his lies and truths to blur in her mind.

For the sake of it, Louis decides to attempt to redeem himself by adding, “I met a guy called Niall a few days back. He’s Irish.”

His mum’s eyebrows nearly shoot up to her hairline and Louis doesn’t know whether to take offence to her shock. He can sense her becoming a little excited. “Oh, really? What’s he like?”

Louis doesn’t need to tell her about the real circumstances under which he met Niall - that it was when he almost broke his nose. There’s no need for her to worry unnecessarily. Plus, it’s practically healed by now (not really, but almost).

“He’s nice,” Louis replies simply because he doesn’t know Niall enough to describe his personality in more than a simple sentence. “He was helping his friend move in.”

Louis shuts his mouth quickly, regretting telling her that because her excitement only grows.

“So his friend must be living close to you if you managed to bump into each other?” she inquires and Louis shrugs for the third time.

“Neighbours,” he replies nonchalantly because again, there’s absolutely nothing he can say about his new neighbour because he’s never witnessed his presence in person. For all he knows, his neighbour could be a ghost who takes pleasure in blasting rock music at six in the morning and meditating at ten in the evening.

If anything, his mum only becomes even more thrilled, not being deterred by his one-word answer.

“Oh, that’s just wonderful!” she exclaims, looking like she’s resisting clapping her hands in joy. “Surely you’ve met if they’ve had a few days to settle down.”

However, much to her dismay, Louis feels his cheeks heat up as he ducks his head, his eyes falling to the ground. He mumbles in reply, “No, we haven’t actually. Not yet… sorry.”

Contrary to the response that he had anticipated from her, his mum’s eyes soften immediately and she reaches over to gently rest her hand on his knee.

“Oh, honey. You don’t need to apologise,” she tells him tenderly, her eyebrows knitting together slightly. “Take your time. You’ll probably end up bumping into each other anyway.”

Louis looks up, feeling guilty that he’s failed his mum once again. With all her weeks of placidly encouraging him to step outside of his comfort zone and socialise for once, he’s quite surprised that she hasn’t snapped with irritation yet.

“Yeah, maybe we might,” he muses.

  
  


Louis exits the elevator at exactly 3:17, exhilarated from his time spent with all the kids but fatigued because kids are absolutely exhausting. His feet are heavy as he trudges down the corridor, his mind whirring as he remembers some of the things the kids told him excitedly which made him smile. At the back of his mind, his mum’s words still beg for attention. He hasn’t forgotten about that either.

Louis pushes his door open with a little less force than usual because his body is completely drained after playing tag with a group of kids for an hour straight (for some reason, they always seemed to try and chase him, and some of them were pretty damn quick). 

“Honey, I’m home,” he calls, his voice husky as it wavers slightly at the end. He pauses in the entrance and inhales deeply, letting his shoulders sag glumly. “Day infinity of being single and living alone. Go me.”

At that moment, Louis notices how the clouds shift to cover the sun, causing the natural lighting in his apartment to dim a little but he doesn’t notice the way his neighbour momentarily takes off his headphones to listen to him.  
  


_ May 22 _

Louis is kind of, maybe, sort of, really, very much, extremely fed up with his new client. He’s fed up with him to the point that he’s frustrated. He’s infuriated, even.

Louis had done exactly what he had been told - print out three hundred flyers advertising his client’s soon-to-be-published autobiography - and he had done it in record time. When his client had arrived in the middle of the afternoon to pick them up, not only had he neglected to show his appreciation for Louis’ hard work (it seriously cost him his blood, sweat and tears) but he had then proceeded to ‘accidentally’ one of the flyers. And instead of saying something chirpy like ‘oh sorry, nevermind that; my mistake’, the man had expressed his chagrin by complaining about Louis’ fragile paper.

“What is this? Eighty grams per metre?!” Mr Mort had lashed out immediately after one of the flyers had ripped slightly. Well, from another perspective, the flyer had ripped by itself but from Louis’ point of view, it had seemed like  _ Mr Mort _ had ripped the flyer.

“It’s actually two hundred and fifty, sir, just like you asked for,” Louis corrected him swiftly, trying not to be fazed by the man’s abrupt outburst.

“This?!  _ This _ is not what I asked for, Mr Tomlinson,” Mr Mort had seethed, his ears so red that Louis had almost felt second-hand pain from them. The geezer had continued to spit, “This is an abomination. This is… this is like  _ tissue _ paper!”

Louis had turned to look at his computer as if he was double-checking something but actually used the escape to roll his eyes instead. He had turned back to Mr Mort, striving to keep his tone as calm and composed as possible.

“Sir, I printed the ads out on two hundred and fifty GSM papers like I was instructed to by your specifications. If you wanted something different, you could’ve asked.”

Mr Mort had gone ahead and thrown another fit before storming out of the office, leaving Louis and the rest of the room stunned. Louis had rolled his eyes once more before getting back to emailing another one of his clients.

Well, fuck Mr Mort because the next thickness-level up would have essentially been cardboard and fuck him again because who the hell has the nerve to cause a scene like that in the middle of an office that’s shared by nearly one hundred people? Louis had internally rolled his eyes so much that he had forgotten to be flustered by all the eyes that had been trained on him and his domineering client.

During the walk back home, the gentle breeze that hits Louis’ face manages to uncloud his head just the slightest bit but he’s still grumbling to himself about aggravating clients when he exits the elevator. His feet are probably the heaviest they have been all week as he plods along the corridor, really not in the mood to bump into anyone he knows. He just wants to curl up on his couch (which has now basically become his makeshift bed, even though he already owns a proper bed), snack on celery and carrot sticks, and cry while watching  _ The Notebook _ .

With a weary, Louis presses his shoulder against his door and leans his whole body weight on it instead of opting to just push it open like a normal person would. He’s too tired to act like a normal person anyway.

“Honey, I’m fucking home,” he mumbles, using his foot to push the door shut. “Why do you not exist when I’ve had a bad day and need you most?”

Louis ends up doing exactly what he wants - sitting on his couch and crying to  _ The Notebook _ while munching on vegetable sticks. However, little does he know that at some point during his movie, his neighbour stands right outside his door, his fist raised like he’s contemplating whether he should knock or not.

The next morning, Louis still hasn’t met his neighbour.  
  


_ May 23 _

Niall makes his second appearance when Louis is heading out of the apartment complex so he can go to the park and wander around aimlessly… just because he has nothing better to do. The Irish lad is holding a large, heavy-looking paper bag and is wearing a cheeky smile when their paths cross.

“Louis!” Niall’s eyes brighten significantly when their eyes meet and if it’s even possible, his smile widens. “Nice to bump into you again! How’s the nose?”

“Niall,” Louis greets him, unsure about whether he should be overly excited, neutrally excited or politely excited (there’s a difference, depending on the level of acquaintance/friendship). He shrugs, “My nose is fine… it’s healing, like one’s nose does. What have you got there?”

Niall’s eyes follow Louis’ hand gesture towards the bag that’s tight in his grip and he holds it up higher for Louis to see like it’s some sort of trophy. “Guess.”

Louis easily tilts his head to the side in thought, wondering what on earth Niall could be in the bag that’s nearly causing the paper to rip under its weight. Mind blank. He takes a wild guess, “I don’t know… a monitor?”

“A monitor?” Niall furrows his eyebrows, looking slightly alarmed. “Like a  _ baby _ monitor?”

“No, like a computer screen,” Louis explains. Niall shakes his head but continues to grin, compelling Louis to guess again, “Is it… one of those really big encyclopaedias with pictures and shit?”

Niall’s expression contorts to one of horror as if he’s never heard something more blasphemous. “Mate…” he trails off, his tone edging on the brink of disappointment.

“Sorry!” Louis apologises hastily. “Erm… a basketball?”

Niall looks at him in disbelief, looking between his bag and Louis. “Mate, basketballs aren’t flat.”

“Well, they could be!” Louis defends himself. “If they’re not pumped up.”

Niall rolls his eyes before holding out the bag and pulling the handles apart, giving Louis a clear view of the thing inside, which happened to be… a block of clay?

Not one to judge, Louis raises his eyebrows and doesn’t hesitate to speak. “Oh, I didn’t know you like pottery. You’ll have to teach me some time so I can make some vases for my mum.”

Niall only leans his head back, a contagious laugh spilling from his mouth as if Louis had said the funniest thing in the world. “It’s not for me. Harry asked me to pick it up for him ‘cause it was on the way.”

Ah, of course. Harry - Niall’s friend and Louis’ neighbour that he still had yet to meet.

“But I’m sure he’d be happy to teach you,” the Irish lad continues with a wink. A wink? A fucking wink? For what? At Louis’ blank stare, Niall keeps going, “You’ve met him, haven’t you?”

Louis shakes his head. “Actually, we haven’t yet…”

Niall’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Jesus, you two must really be avoiding each other if you haven’t bumped into each other yet!”

A sheepish expression crosses Louis’ face as he rubs the back of his neck, not sure whether he should be feeling guilty. “Erm… sorry?”

Niall just laughs again and pats Louis’ arm good-naturedly. “Don’t apologise. Well, I’ve got a block of clay to deliver so I’ll see you later.”

Before scurrying away, the Irish lad lifts his hand in a wave, not giving time for Louis to say his adieu. He’s confused but he goes on his walk anyway.

Louis thinks there’s something therapeutic about going for walks alone. The way the wind and the silence simultaneously engulf him in serenity, unfogging his mind and allowing him to think somewhat clearly. The way he can admire the beauty of nature without being distracted by other people trying to continuously yabber in his ear.

By the time he arrives home, Louis’ spirits are nearly touching the roof. He’s not excited; just extremely content, and that’s enough for a smile to stay etched on his face until 7 am tomorrow. Unlike yesterday, there’s a slight skip in his step as he approaches his door, clicking open the lock and energetically pushing his door open. He smiles at the metaphorical warmth his apartment brings him (because it’s pretty fucking cold inside).

“Honey, I’m home!” he calls, the bright tone of his voice completely contrasting his dejected mumble from yesterday. His smile does even falter when he opens his mouth to remind himself of the painful fact that he’s still alone, “Oh wait, I’m single. What am I thinking?”

When Louis pushes his door shut, he doesn’t know how tempted his neighbour is to speed out of his apartment and stop the door before it fully closes. But alas, it’s all in bad timing - he’s wearing a shamefully dirty apron and his hands are smothered in wet clay.  
  


_ May 24 _

Mr Mort strides into the office at exactly 4:59 pm, meaning that if he needs Louis’ attention for over a minute, he’d be working overtime. He’s scurrying around, trying to pack up his belongings hastily when the red-faced man approaches him.

“Mr Tomlinson, I asked for three hundred flyers,  _ not _ two hundred and ninety-nine,” he barks towards the back of Louis’ head, startling him and making him jump.

He spins around with wide eyes, “Sorry, what?”

“I said, I asked for three hundred flyers, not two hundred and ninety-nine,” Mr Mort repeats himself, his tone borderline impatient and ready to snap. He continues, “I spent all night last night counting them and there were only two hundred and ninety-nine.”

Louis knits his eyebrows together, wondering how on earth he had incorrectly entered the number of copies to be printed in his computer before remembering the events from two days prior. He resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“Sir, perhaps there are only ninety-nine because you ripped one of them and disposed of it,” he suggests, his voice wavering slightly.

Mr Mort is well on his way to uncannily resembling a tomato as he snaps, “Well, that should’ve been replaced.”

God, Louis does  _ not _ want to have to deal with this. He runs a hand through his hair, contemplating his entire existence before huffing out a breath and moving to turn his computer back on.

“Okay, sir, if you could just wait a few minutes, I’ll print out another flyer for you,” he tells the man, logging in a fast as possible and opening the document that contains the flyer.

“Make it quick,” Mr Mort demands. “I have a plane to catch.”

The pointless comment flies over Louis’ head as he selects the correct printer and presses  _ print _ .

“I’ll be right back,” he informs Mr Mort (who still looks like a tomato) and stands up in order to walk over to the printer at the edge of the room, muttering incoherent expletives towards the man under his breath. The printing process, thankfully, is quite short because it’s only one sheet of paper and he only needs to wait a few seconds before picking up the flyer. He walks back over to where Mr Mort is tapping his foot tetchily and holds the piece of paper out to him. “Here you go, sir.”

Having the audacity to neglect thanking Louis, Mr Mort snatches the flyer from his hand with a huff and spins on his heel, stomping away.  _ Jesus _ , this man’s arrogant. Louis hopes he’ll never be like him.

He quickly shuts down his computer before slinging his bag over his shoulder and waving to his colleagues before walking out of the office in a much more… calm manner than Mr Mort. God, that man had better not show up to his office ever again.

Fed up with the mere thought of life, Louis heads to the apartment with barely a spark of energy in his step; in fact, the weight of his feet is probably equal to the weight of the rest of his body. Yep. Mr Mort has successfully caused his premature death.

When he arrives at level three, the ding of the elevator only serves to irritate him more as he steps out into the corridor. Today, he doesn’t care that he’s single. He doesn’t want to bump into or see anyone.

Like every other day, he rummages through his pocket for his key before sliding it into the lock and twisting. With his whole body weight, he forces his door open and stands in the doorway, staring at the floor. There’s absolutely no sunlight coming through the window and that’s the sign of a horrible, horrible day.

“Honey, I’m home,” he says, running a hand through his already-messed-up hair and sighing. “Today-”

He whirls around at the sound of a nearby door opening, his eyes widening at the sight of his neighbour - a tall man with a wild mop of brown curls and the brightest green eyes - holding up a box and looking at him sheepishly.

“I picked some pizza,” the man says, the vibrations of his deep voice sending shivers down Louis’ spine.

Louis can’t do anything but gawk, his eyes like saucepans and his mouth hanging ajar, probably looking like he’s never come across another human in his entire existence. But then again, this man, Harry (that’s what Niall said, right?) isn’t a human, no. He’s a fucking angel.

Louis takes it back; the sunlight in his apartment no longer has the power to determine whether it’s a horrible, horrible day or not. If he thought it was impossible for his day to get any better after another berating from Mr Mort, he was most certainly very wrong. Harry’s still gazing down at him, almost imploringly as if silently begging, with his eyes, for Louis to accept the offer. Slowly, the very edges of Louis’ mouth quirk up in a small smile and he steps to the side, gesturing for Harry to enter.

Louis admires Harry’s long legs as he walks in and he swears he almost sees him trip over a floorboard. He’s never been so fond of clumsiness before.

“I ordered pepperoni with extra cheese,” Harry drawls, his words slow and calculated, like he’s carefully planning each syllable that comes out of his mouth. “I hope you like that.”

Fuck. Louis is already in love with this man.

“It’s my favourite, actually,” he replies, tilting his head to the side. “How did you know?”

Harry’s face stretches into a lopsided grin and he shrugs. “Lucky guess.”

Gosh, he’s so charming. Louis doesn’t know what he should do. Should he become infatuated with him and just creepily fixate his eyes on him for the remainder of the night? Should he begin profusely thanking him for saving him from having an awful end to an awful day? Or should he do that afterwards? Yeah, maybe he should continue to keep the mood light while it’s at that level. The appreciation can wait.

Louis eventually decides to move towards his two-person dining table that sits in the furthermost corner of his apartment, on the verge of collecting dust, and his movements feel foreign to him as he pulls out a chair for himself. He probably hasn’t properly sat down at the table to eat his dinner in weeks, if not  _ months _ . It’s kind of refreshing, in a way.

“Come sit,” he beckons Harry over and the curly-haired man bounds over like an excited puppy, placing the pizza on the table and pulling out his own chair.

Louis proceeds to open up the pizza box, revealing a mouthwatering dinner that he wishes he could eat every day. Then, he withdraws his hands, allowing Harry to take the first slice because he’s the one who bought the pizza after all.

They eat in silence for a few minutes and Louis is surprised at how comfortable he feels amidst the silence. He tries not to ogle at Harry too much (which is pretty damn difficult considering the fact that Harry literally looks like a god) in case he catches him staring. He would probably die on the spot from second-hand embarrassment.

“So, it’s nice to finally meet you,” Harry breaks the silence five minutes into their meal. “Niall’s been begging me to talk to you for  _ days _ . He thinks us five would make a ‘power group’ or something… but don’t worry, I don’t understand half the shit he says either.”

Storing the thought of Niall talking about him to Harry in the back of his mind for later, Louis furrows his eyebrows. “Us five?”

“Yeah; us, Niall, Liam and Zayn. I thought you knew them?” Harry asks, mirroring Louis’ frown.

The latter raises his eyebrows in response. “I didn’t know he’s friends with Liam and Zayn.”

“Well, I mean, he only met Zayn yesterday but he gets around,” Harry elaborates before chuckling lightly. “I’ve never met anyone without them being friends with Niall first,” he pauses momentarily. “So, why haven’t I bumped into you before today?”

“I’m basically the polar opposite of Niall - I don’t get out much,” Louis explains.

“Busy?”

He shrugs. “No, not really. Just would rather a night in than a night out.”

Harry scoffs but Louis is pleased to hear that it’s not a condescending sort of scoff. “Yeah, it was a right change to hear  _ High School Musical 3 _ through the walls while I was trying to meditate.”

Louis’ eyes widen but he bites his tongue before it rushes to defend him, thinking up a snarky comeback instead. “The fact that you recognised it just by the sound says a lot, Curly.”

“I swear you were crying at the end of the graduation scene,” Harry bites back.

Louis palliates, “I didn’t want it to end! They should’ve continued the series.”

“What. And see Sharpay turn evil again for the fourth time?” the green-eyed lad retorts. “No, thanks.”

“You would still watch it,” Louis says, suddenly confident.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Harry combats.

“Yeah, you would,” Louis tells him forcefully. “You like watching soppy movies, don’t you. I bet you like watching shit like  _ The Notebook _ and  _ Titanic _ and  _ Love Actually _ .”

“My favourite movie is  _ Love Actually _ … actually,” Harry replies, smiling smugly at his awful pun and Louis rolls his eyes. “How did you know?”

Louis shrugs and echoes Harry’s earlier words. “Lucky guess.” He breaks off for a second, before taking a leap of faith, “I was planning to watch  _ Love Actually _ tonight… how about it?”

Practically the embodiment of joy and excitement, Harry’s grin grows like one of an eager child, who’s just been promised another cookie, and that’s enough to let Louis know of his answer. 

Louis might just keep him around.  
  


_ June 28th - Next Year _

Louis is pleased to mentally note that it has been a full four hundred days since he’s had an arrogant client like Mr Mort. After the man had (thankfully) departed from Louis’ life for good, Louis had taken to counting the days since he had been freed from the man’s presence. It had quickly become the second-best highlight of Louis’ day. The first was arriving at home.

“Honey, I’m home!” Louis calls as he forces the door (which has not made much improvement in its weight throughout the past year) open and is immediately surrounded by the delicious smell of homemade spaghetti bolognaise.

A familiar head of curls sticks out around the corner. “Babe, hi! Good day at work? I made dinner.”

Louis grins brightly and gently places down his bag on the couch because it holds a ceramic coffee cup that Harry had made him just recently (he uses it for his tea, but that’s beside the point). He bounces towards his boyfriend of nine months, wrapping his arms around him and leaning up to give him a kiss on the lips.

“Better now.” Louis smiles, mainly because of how content he feels in Harry’s arms but also because if the other lads were witnessing this, they’d start hacking and gagging, complaining about how they've been in the honeymoon phase for far too long.

He pulls away and looks up to see Harry staring down at him in pure admiration. “You’re fucking sappy, you know that?”

“Exactly your type,” Louis responds, heading around his boyfriend and towards the kitchen, glancing at the various pots sitting on the stove. “It smells good. I bet if you didn’t start exploiting my kitchen, I’d need about fifty air fresheners to create an at-least-decent odour in here.”

Harry feigns taking offence, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. “Exploiting your kitchen?”

Louis turns around and smiles, reaching up to tuck one of the curls behind his ear. “You literally have the exact same kitchen in your own apartment but yet, you still choose to use mine.”

Harry rolls his eyes but takes Louis’ hand to kiss his palm. “Let me just remind you that before I waltzed into your life, you ate  _ carrot sticks _ for dinner.”

“Whatever,” Louis grumbles. “They were my comfort food, okay?”

Harry’s eyes brighten at that. “Oh yeah! Speaking of, I bought Pringles for you. The purple ones - I think they’re barbecue flavour?”

Louis’ eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “Whatever for?” he asks but quickly corrects himself, “I mean, thanks, love, but why?”

“For you to snack on while you’re crying your eyes out to  _ Titanic _ tonight, duh,” the curly-haired man replies as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh right. I forgot I agreed to that,” Louis says, pursing his lips together. “Mind you, I was drunk.”

“Drunk in love,” Harry swoons, grabbing a pair of tongs and practically gliding to the stove, taking off the lid of one of the pots. 

Louis resists the urge to roll his eyes, unable to help the fond smile that stretches on his face, single-handedly caused by the man in front of him.

That night, the two of them snuggle into each others’ sides like puzzle pieces with Louis munching on his Pringles and Harry trying to steal Pringles from him. He’s not exactly sneaky and Louis catches him every time, but he let him have them anyway, just because he’s Harry - essentially the love of Louis’ life.

It’s not exactly romantic, but Louis thinks… no,  _ knows _ that he’s fallen hard - harder than everything in the Titanic fell when the boat began to sink. Only this time, the ship sailed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading ! Please leave kudos if you liked it and leave a comment about anything - feedback, critiques, things you liked, things you didn't like, anything !
> 
> I hope you all have a lovely day/night x


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